


Removing Misery

by topswearing



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Angst, Drug Addiction, Eventual Happy Ending, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-28 12:19:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12606496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/topswearing/pseuds/topswearing
Summary: Set shortly after Season 4, Episode 3 when House electrocutes himself.





	1. Chapter 1

House leaned back in his chair in an attempt to ease his stiff spine. Noise from various medical instruments filled the room but he focused only on two sounds: the irregular beeping of the heart monitor and the rhythmic, dull tapping of his cane against the linoleum floor. 

His eyes bore into the hospital bed as he tried to keep the feeling of despair from bursting right out of his chest. House reached into his shirt pocket to retrieve his ever-present Vicodin only to find the bottle was empty. He had known this already but somehow it had seemed unimportant all those hours ago. For once, he had been embracing the pain in his leg; it helped to ground him, to focus on something other than the sight before him. Now the pain was unbearable and he was nauseous. Still, there was no way that he was going to leave the room for anything right now- even Vicodin. He reached for the button to call a nurse and buzzed. 

Instead of the sound of sneakers, House was surprised to hear the clip-clopping of Cuddy's heels enter the room a minute later. He did not remove his gaze from the bed. 

"Since when did the Dean of Medicine start pulling shifts at the Nurse's Station?" he asked. 

"I happened to be there when the buzz came through and thought he might be awake." The disappointment in her voice was clear. "How is he?" she said with a sigh. 

"No change in Sleeping Beauty," he said briskly. "I, on the other hand, needed a Nurse to run a little errand for me but I suppose it'll save on hospital admin if Nursey doesn't have to go running to you for your signature."

Cuddy turned her focus to House. He looked absolutely wrecked but more than that, he looked ill. He was covered in a sheen of sweat and was deathly pale. 

"You need Vicodin? My God, House." She looked at him wide-eyed with eyebrows raised. "You picked a GREAT time to start detoxing. Why didn't you say something?"

He turned to look at her, shrugged his shoulders and gave a wry grin. "Didn't seem important," he said in a faux jocular tone. 

Cuddy took a deep breath and opened her mouth as if to say something but then thought better of it. She moved to leave the room and placed a hand on House's shoulder. "I'll send someone in with it."


	2. Chapter 2

48 hours earlier...

House hammered on the door of Wilson's office.

"I know you're in there with one of your weepy patients! Come out and face me you goddamn son of a jackal!"

Inside Wilson sent a silent prayer of gratitude that he had had the foresight to lock his door. 

"I know it's difficult but please ignore all that ruckus," Wilson said to his patient with a reassuring gesture of his head towards the door. "He's a patient well-known to me and one of the side-effects of his medication is confusion and rage. Somebody'll come by to sedate him in a minute."

"I mean it! I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow this door down!"

Wilson shook his head sadly for the benefit of his patient, sharing his sympathy for the poor, confused man on the other side of the door. His patient was Edna Collins: an elderly lady who wore thick-lensed glasses and, at a rough estimate, a litre of Lily of the Valley perfume. She nodded her head in sympathy. 

"You can't hide forever. Get out here now so I can get a good look into the face of a traitor!" 

The banging on the door continued but Wilson carried on with his patient's appointment as if everything were completely normal. That was until Edna, with mouth agape, pointed a shaky finger at the door to the balcony. 

There, House was stood glaring with his forehead pressed against the glass. Wilson screwed his eyebrows in confusion and stalked towards the door to his office. He unlocked it to find a janitor was knocking the other side with the end of his mop. He scampered away guiltily as Wilson turned back to House who raised his palms and shrugged in a gesture to indicate that he had no idea why a janitor would be doing such a thing. 

"Mrs Collins, why don't you go down to the cafeteria and get yourself a nice cup of tea?"

Edna looked at House to find him waving cheerily at her. She eyed him with suspicion. 

"I'll come find you in a few moments when I've dealt with this patient who seems to be having a bit of an episode."

For a split second, it seemed like Edna was going to refuse but then she raised from her chair. 

"Okay, dear. You just be careful now, I don't like the look of that man one bit. You keep your wits about you."

"I will," Wilson assured as he gently steered her out of the room. "Thank you, Mrs Collins."

As the door closed, Wilson's smiling face to turned to one of fury. He crossed the room in three broad strides and flung the balcony door open.

"Couldn't this have waited? I was with a patient, you know."

"It wasn't serious- the woman must have been at least 138 years old. When you get to that age, nothing can kill you. Your prognosis, however, is extremely poor. Death within the hour unless that you tell me where you've put my Vicodin."

"Why would you think I've moved your Vicodin? Maybe I've done no such thing."

"Look, Wilson. I'm not here to play your games. I need it and you're going to give it to me."

"DO you need it, though?"

"I'm in permanent pain, you absolute moron!" House exploded. 

Wilson moved back a step, a little surprised by how strong House was reacting. He could only have been without Vicodin for a couple of hours at the most. 

"I thought it would be a good idea for you to detox," he said with his eyes down. 

"Oh, really? And you never thought to ask me for my thoughts on the matter? You thought it would be a good idea for me to go cold turkey, did you?"

"Not exactly. I knew you'd find Vicodin from somewhere: get Cuddy to write you a script, go to a random medical centre with fake symptoms, steal- whatever." He risked looking directly at House. "I just thought it might shock you into doing something, into realising that you're an addict if the Vicodin wasn't so easily available."

"I don't need to do something! I function fine: I come to work. I solve cases. I save lives."

"You're miserable," Wilson stated matter-of-factly.

"We're ALL miserable."

"I'm not. You're the one so miserable that you stuck your hand in an electric socket."

"I already told you," House said quietly. "I wasn't trying to kill myself". 

"Yeah, and like I said, you didn't care if you lived either." A lump started to swell in Wilson's throat and he willed himself not to tear up. 

House went on the offensive. 

"You need to take a look in the mirror. Something's been bothering you for the last year, something's making YOU miserable. I've seen your Gloomy Gus routine when you think nobody's watching." 

House studied Wilson's face for a reaction. He had frozen in horror. It was true, he was miserable but the last person on earth he wanted to know, or thought would notice that, was House.

"The bags under your eyes, the caffeine pills in your pocket," House continued. "I think you're trying to distract yourself from your own problems so you've decided to annoy the hell out of me instead."

Wilson gulped. He was petrified of the course this conversation was taking. 

"So tell me, Jimmy. What have you got to be miserable about? I mean, me? I've got the perfect excuse- this damn bum leg of mine." House stepped closer, towering over Wilson. "But you? Come on, spit it out."

For a moment, Wilson imagined telling House the truth. He imagined simply saying the words. He imagined the relief he would feel by getting the giant elephant in the room out in the open. "I love you and it scares the shit out of me". Then he imagined House's reaction and clamped right down on that temptation. 

The silence rolled on as House searched Wilson's face for clues.

He seemed to come to a conclusion. "You really are a moron." With disgust, he limped out of the room. 

Wilson dropped heavily into his chair.


	3. Chapter 3

House did not bother going back to his office. He had no case and there was no way he was going to get roped into clinic duty. Besides, he needed to find some Vicodin and for that, he knew just the place to go. As he drove his motorcycle out of the hospital car park, Wilson's face flashed through his mind making him wince. House was aware that he had questioned Wilson in such a way as to deflect from his own problems, but there was truth in what he had said. He had suspected that Wilson was miserable for some time but he had his own problems to deal with and had not wanted to get enmeshed in somebody else's. Sure, he had been curious to know what had been bothering his friend but now he was in danger of becoming downright worried. 

The sheer emotion on Wilson's face had forced him to flee the room. Whatever his problem was, House knew he was not equipped to deal with it. He attempted to tamp down the anxiety and accelerated harder as if he could escape from his thoughts. 

Eventually, House reached his destination: Wilson's apartment.


	4. Chapter 4

It was after midnight by the time Wilson left the hospital. One of his patients, a man with no family and seemingly no friends, had taken a turn for the worse midafternoon. Wilson had not wanted him to die alone and so had set up office in his hospital room. 

By the time he reached his apartment, he was exhausted. He did not bother to turn on the lights as he entered and headed straight for his bedroom, shucking off his coat as he entered the room. Without getting undressed, he collapsed onto the bed and started to drift into sleep immediately. 

A few moments later, the message trickled through to his brain that something was different. Something was wrong. It started as a nagging sensation at first but then Wilson shot upright in bed only to realise what was bothering him: he could hear the sound of someone else's breathing. Terrified, he reached for his table lamp and switched it on. There, on the other side of his bed, was House. 

Wilson sighed deeply in relief before shaking the still figure next to him with violence. House awoke with a start. 

"What?"

"What do you mean 'what'? House, what the hell are you doing here?"

House looked at his surroundings as calmly as possible and tried to figure out where he was. The day's events came flooding back to him: he remembered finding Wilson's hidden stash of Vicodin under the mattress and taking more than his usual dose to compensate for lost time. This had made him drowsy and he had figured that a small nap would do no harm. He glanced at the clock on the wall: five hours had passed. 

"You didn't really think I wouldn't figure out where you'd hidden my delicious drugs, did you?"

"I thought you'd think I'd thrown them down the drain or something." There was a pause and Wilson rubbed his eyes. "And that doesn't answer what the hell you're doing in my bed."

"Alright, Baby Bear. I'm on my way." House took a deep breath. "A guy's got to sleep, you know."

"Still not hearing an explanation?"

"Rules is rules. If you don't have to explain why you're miserable, I don't have to explain what I'm doing here."

"Oh...for God...Just go and turn off the light on your way out."

House studied Wilson for a moment and saw his chance to push for answers and like a rabbit sensing itself being preyed upon, Wilson saw what was coming an attempted to shut it down. 

"No," he said with all the sternness he could muster. "I need to sleep; I don't want to get into another argument with you."

"Well, I'm not leaving."

"Yes. You are."

"No, I'm not."

"Get. Out."

"I thought you weren't arguing with me?"

Wilson pursed his lips and shook his head. He turned off the lamp leaving House standing in the dark and lay back down to sleep. House was unsure what to do with this turn of events. As much as one half of him wanted answers, the other half knew instinctively that this was not something he should be prodding with a stick. Besides, Wilson looked dog-tired and House hated seeing him so vulnerable. The thought flitted through House's mind that he could just rejoin Wilson in bed and go back to sleep. He wondered if Wilson would do anything to stop him. He imagined pulling Wilson into his arms and holding him close. House all but run from the room with this thought, wondering what on earth had possessed him to think such a thing.


End file.
